An Angel Sent Me
by Aurora Magician
Summary: Rating will go up. Thanks to those who R&R for pting out mistakes; I reloaded it w/ corrections. Just running our guys thru the mill... ELF... thanks to Steve for suggestions! DISCLAIMER: SeaQuest ain't mine, but new gal is, so ask me before using her!


Some kind of Angel....  
  
She awoke with a splitting headache. The sunlight seeping through the slits of the blinds was too bright; she curled up and pulled the covers over her head. Or rather, she tried, but her arm hurt too much; her ribs ached, and her foot was on fire. Wrenching her eyes open at last, she groaned loudly, and managed to push herself up on her good arm.  
  
The sheets were covered in blood—her blood. Her left arm dangled uselessly at her side; her left foot still had glass and a nice red-black hole in it. Thankfully, her ribs seemed to only be bruised. Her head must be okay; otherwise she wouldn't have woken up at all. *At least I made to the bed before I passed out this time*, she thought dazedly. Her body ached all over, but she was used to pain. Pain was her life now, with this path she had chosen for herself. Gingerly, she turned and maneuvered her broken arm into an opening in the headboard, and braced herself. *One, two, three*; she took a deep breath, held it, and wrenched it hard. Her face distorted with pain and a squeak escaped her, but at least she'd fixed it.  
  
*Shower*, she thought fuzzily, *and dig the glass out of my feet. And take care of where Alexander drove that damn screwdriver into my foot. Ack—I should be grateful it wasn't my HEAD.* And with that, she slowly made her way to the bathroom adjacent to her bedroom.  
  
"Hey, Lucas! You wanna fix this or not? We need navigation, or we can't get nowhere!" Ford was yelling in his controlled panic. Lucas sighed and shook his head as the SeaQuest took another hit. "I'm trying, sir," he yelled back. What did they think he was anyway, a wizard? He was only capable of moving and fixing things so fast!  
  
"That's not good enough, Mr. Wolenczeck! We need that NOW!" Another hit shook the sub. Several alarms joined the clamber that had started with the first wave of firepower. The shockwave jerked him so hard that he hit his head on the panel in front of him. Blood spilled out of small cut on his forehead. He ignored it.  
  
"Mr. Wolenczak!" Captain Nathan Bridger dashed onto the bridge. Another hit set off the alarms that had as yet not gone off. Water sprung in sudden leaks all over the place.  
  
"Levels three and six are flooding, sir!" Lucas didn't know or care who had said that. He was almost there… just a few more adjustments…  
  
"Any day now, Lucas!" Nathan called out. "Okay," he yelled, "Hang on—I just need to cross a few wires and it'll be fixed!" He shoved his chair aside, and tore off the panel underneath his work station. *Thank God I never remembered to replace those stripped screws*, Lucas thought absently. He slid under the sector, and scrutinized the wires. In a moment, he found the correct ones.  
  
Wriggling uncomfortably, he extracted his pocketknife (a birthday gift from Nathan) out of his belt. Carefully, he cut the wires and scraped their ends. He tore off a bit of his shirt, and connected the ends of the wires, holding them with the cloth.  
  
"Well done, Lucas!" he heard someone shout. *Ford, I think*.  
  
"I have to stay under here!" he yelled, "Gotta keep the wires connected, so get us outta here fast!"  
  
"Moving right along!" yelled Ford happily.  
  
"All ahead full, Mr. O'Neil," called Bridger, "Fire when ready!"  
  
"Aye-aye, sir!" The SeaQuest lurched against another explosion. Lucas felt the wires getting hotter-- but if he let go, they'd lose Navigation. He had to hold on. "Move it faster, guys!" he hollered. The wires were burning his skin! He bit his lip to keep from distracting everyone; no one needed to worry about anything other than getting out of here at the moment. "Hurry!" he urged frantically.  
  
"Direct hit! They're breaking off pursuit!"  
  
"THEN GET US THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Lucas could feel his flesh on fire. He didn't dare let go…  
  
Nathan and Ford looked over in Lucas's direction. What was up with him?  
  
"All ahead full… we're clear!"  
  
"Slow her up ten percent!" called Nathan, hurrying over to Lucas, "Lucas—"  
  
It was too much for him; the wires were too hot. Lucas screamed, let them go; he felt his flesh rip away from the burning metal. He curled into a fetal position, cradling his hands. Nathan and Ford were at his side in a heartbeat, dragging him out from underneath the panel.  
  
"Sir—we've just lost Navi- "  
  
"Deal with it!" Nathan snapped. He and Ford heaved Lucas to his feet, "Let's get him to Sickbay," he said. Each man took an arm, draped it over their shoulders.  
  
"I'm okay," said Lucas, his head clearing a little, "I can walk by myself. It's just my hands—I burned them." He held them out in front of himself gingerly—they were laced with red and black, horribly burned; his skin was still bubbling angrily. He was crying, but he didn't realize it. Nathan looked at him with a mixed expression, "I'm going with you," he said firmly, "Commander Ford, you have the Bridge."  
  
"Aye-aye, sir," he answered reluctantly. Nathan and Lucas left.  
  
The hot water was heaven to her tired muscles. She soaked in the tub, digging glass out of her feet; dropping the red pieces into the wastebasket she had for just this reason. The worst of it was over; she had most of it out.  
  
Her water was tinted pink with blood. She submerged her feet, pouring peroxide over them in case of infection. She sat up and pulled the plug. Pink water surged down the drain, erasing the memory of red. She lay there as it drained, thinking of nothing. She pulled the band out of her luxurious red hair; it spilled down into the water, over her shoulders, covering her torso completely. If she stood up, it would reach past her waist.  
  
The water finished draining, and she did stand up… slowly. Tentatively, she placed weight on each foot. Satisfied, she flicked on the shower, turning the spray to gentle. She soaked her hair; let the water run down her body and massage her bruised face. Only then did she grab soap and gently cleanse herself. The smell of anti-bacterial and Green Tea filled the air; her muscles welcomed the massage. She was careful with her face, and managed to wash her hair with both arms. Dirt and grime were swept away; some of the traces of her work disappeared down the pipes. Gratefully, she stood under the spray and let it cascade over her until it ran cold. Then she stepped tenderly out of the tub.  
  
Drying off thoroughly proved too much trouble; she gave herself a cursory tousling, and then survived wrapping the towel around her head. She decided that bra and panties were worth it, but real cloths were too much of a bother, so a housecoat would do. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror, and couldn't abide more than that. *Gods, I'm a sight!*  
  
She sat down on her bed, and covered her still-bleeding feet in gauze and tape. *At least it'll keep infection from settling in… and make it a bit easier to walk. I'll clean up the floor later.* Standing up experimentally, she stripped her bloody sheets and stuffed them in the washing machine. The towel joined them—it was black, so the blood wouldn't show up if the color got absorbed at all. *I love black*, she thought acidly.  
  
Breakfast consisted of sticky rice she'd made earlier, knowing she'd be too tired to do anything but microwave and stuff her face. *I practically live on finger-food… anything else requires too much time and effort… that is, if I eat at all*. Applesauce was another good choice; milk soothed her parched throat. After that: several glasses of water in secession. Then more sticky rice and some pre-cut cheese. There—now if her jaw could manage some carrots or lettuce at lunch, she'd have most of her food groups. At least, she'd cover the most important ones. Peanut butter would also come in handy… and toast. *Sometimes I really miss having the time and energy to actually cook something.*  
  
*Okay, enough R and R. Time to get down to business… again.* She sighed, and leaned her head back in the chair. *I need to plan, and well. My next case is gonna be*… She never did get to finish that thought. She had just enough time to sense that something was wrong before all Hell broke loose:  
  
Gunshots came through the windows, sending glass everywhere. She dove under the table, scraping her knees on the fragments. More of it bit into her feet *(dammit, again)* and back; the table splintered above her. She scrambled out of the kitchen into the hallway. Walls were turned to Swiss cheese around her; somebody kicked down her front door. She headed for the back door, but backpedaled when it exploded in flames in front of her. Flying embers scorched her face and hands, but she bolted towards the bathroom. She had one more trick up her sleeve, kept in top shape just for this occasion. Those scum were in for a surprise.  
  
One of them jumped her as she scuttled inside. She had enough time to think *Smart bastards!*... and she fell to the floor on her bad arm. Then it was elbow-to-jaw, knee in the stomach, punch-'em-in-the-nose and he was out like a light. Still, it had taken too much time. She grabbed his gun and ammo and kicked the door shut. The button was… ah, underneath the sink. So were the knife, pistol, and bullets. There was a satchel in the hamper… she grabbed it, stuffed everything in, and scarfed a shirt and pants before they started pounding on the locked door. She lifted the rug, and opened the trapdoor it revealed. She shimmied down, shut it, and set off as fast as she could through a tunnel in front of her. The sound of gunfire turning her bathroom into Swiss cheese reached her.  
  
She managed to make it out of range before the shield generator kicked in. A few seconds later, and she would've been caught in it as well. She crawled on, getting dirty all over again. Feeling returned; pain interrupted her progress at irregular intervals. It would be nightfall before she would surface in the boathouse on the West side of the island; she had "lived" on the North end. *And when I get out of here, there will be HELL to pay… for BOTH sides!*  
  
Nathan and Lucas passed several soaked, weary, and scraped people on their way to sickbay. Lucas's hands were shaking, and kept feeling cold and tired. Shock, he thought with a strange calm, *I must be in shock. Yeah, "shock" alright*. Vaguely detached at his own caustic humor, he allowed himself a small smile. Nathan supported him, but they still hustled.  
  
Bridger got all the doors for him, and held on to his waist when they had to use ladders. Lucas looked pale to him—too pale; paler than usual. Sweat dotted the young man's forehead, but not a lot. They were almost to sickbay when Lucas stumbled. Nathan caught him, but not before the burned flesh made contact with the floor. Lucas damn near screamed, but his breath was gone. Something between a yelp and a gasp escaped him, and tears stung his eyes. Quick as he could, Nathan dragged him into sickbay.  
  
Dr. Westphalen met them almost at once. She grasped his other arm, and helped him to a bed. Bandages, antiseptics, and other medical tools lay neatly on a tray nearby. She grabbed a clear bottle and some gauze, and poured the liquid over the burned area. Lucas sucked in air so fast he coughed; Nathan held him upright, holding him firmly by the shoulders and rubbing his back. Lucas leaned into him, trying not to cry. Westphalen had seen burns before, but it sickened her to see them scarring Lucas's beautiful hands. She reached for the instruments she needed to scrub the wounds, but decided to give him a local anesthetic first.  
  
"This will help with the pain, Lucas," she said gently, forcing him to look at her. He met her gaze solemnly, and nodded. He was trying so hard not to cry that he didn't realize he was; she injected him with the medicine—first in the right hand, then in the left. He winced, but made no sound. Nathan covered him in a blanket when he started shivering again. Kristen frowned, knowing he was in shock, but the burns were more important. She caught Nathan's eye—'talk to him,' she mouthed. He nodded.  
  
"Lucas," he said persuasively, "Do you remember the time I first heard Darwin talk?" The young man smiled and gave a small laugh:  
  
"Yeah," his voice sounded wheezy, "You damn near wet your pants; you were so surprised."  
  
"I did not!"  
  
"Of course you did," Lucas insisted, grateful for the distraction; it was unnerving to watch the doctor work. Ah, well—*At least I can't feel anything.* He changed subjects rapidly, mostly because he was feeling very sick.  
  
"How about the time I had that meeting with the UN senators, and couldn't figure out the translation device?"  
  
"And you hid your gum under the podium!" Nathan had to laugh at that one.  
  
"Just where the hell else was I supposed to put it? Anyway, it turned out to be life-saving, didn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," Nathan chuckled, nodding, "You got a point there. And I'll never forget Darwin's 'Lucas-Music'! Hell, nobody can stand your music!"  
  
"Hey! I take offense to that!" Nausea swept over him more strongly this time. He was decidedly going to be sick. "Uh… guys? I'm gonna be sick." Dr. Westphalen didn't lift her gaze for an instant. "Nathan? There's a wastebasket right behind you on the left." It was retrieved, and not a moment too soon. Nathan managed to find a tissue, and wiped Lucas's mouth for him. A glass of water, and Lucas bent his head over the wastebasket again.  
  
He had dry heaves before Dr. Westphalen was done with him. "What in the hell were you thinking, Lucas?" she yelled, now that she had attention to spare, "Holding onto the wires like that! It was stupid!"  
  
"Well," his voice was almost a whisper now, "We would've been dead or boarded by now if I hadn't… the former more likely than the latter. It was up to me to fix it, so I did. The only way I knew how," he paused to swallow another fit of dry heaves, "Was to hotwire the damn thing." Kristen shook her head. "Next time, find another way to do it. Use your shirt to protect yourself, or something, but don't use your bare hands!"  
  
"I didn't—the wires burned right through the cloth I had wrapped around 'em!" The doctor and the captain exchanged glances. Lucas didn't care; his hands were starting to hurt again, and all he wanted right now was some sleep. He shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized that the doctor was talking to him. "Lucas!"  
  
"What? Sorry, I wasn't listening."  
  
"I said I want you in bed for the next twenty-four hours, then you can go back to work for awhile, but only if you feel up to it. As soon as you get tired, I want you to go right back to bed. Got it?" He nodded in submission. *Hell, I don't care. I wanted some sleep anyway. And at least she isn't keeping me in Sickbay the entire time.* Tony would help him out if he needed anything, and he could still punch the buttons on a personal computer.  
  
She'd been crawling for hours. She'd pulled her long red hair back into a ponytail a long time ago, but there were pieces of it falling into her eyes. It was so dirty, it looked more like a chocolate brown than red- gold, and it matted to her head. Her skin was streaked with mud, sweat, and blood.  
  
Her knees stung where dirt got rubbed into the cuts and scrapes; she had dug out the glass already, and used most of her housecoat as bandages. Her shoulder hurt where the one asshole had jumped her, wrenching her left arm out of her socket. *Thank God I'm ambidextrous!* She was basically in a constant state of pain. She ignored it—she just had to get out of here and off this Godforsaken island; get somewhere where she wouldn't be found. *There are a couple of uncharted islands off the coast of Africa… maybe I could go there. There are also those islands near Hawaii… Hmmm… I've got to be nearing the boathouse by now.*  
  
Sure enough, she came upon the intersection of tunnels she needed. She stepped out of her tunnel, and was finally able to stand upright. There was no time to stretch… she had to keep going. She checked her guns; loaded them, and put one back in the satchel. Slinging the bag over her right shoulder, she kept the gun she'd taken from her jumper in hand and ready to fire. Slowly, limping slightly, she made her way down the tunnel that would take her to the secret door in the boathouse.  
  
She didn't know who had made the tunnels that criss-crossed the island, but she was grateful to them. They had allowed her to traverse this island undetected for years now, and she hoped that she could return someday… when her trail wasn't so hot. She started to wonder what those scum had done to her house, but squelched the idea as soon as it occurred to her. She wouldn't be returning to get her things; in her line of work, this was as routine as coffee was for some people… normal, safe, deceived people.  
  
Enough! She needed to plan—stay one step ahead of these guys. Would they have discovered her boathouse by now? Were they waiting for her up ahead? Her mind worked furiously, considering every possibility she could think of. *Well, basically, if the boathouse fails, I'll make for the southeast corner and swim around to the south end. Once there, I could take the Penny out and make for Antarctica. Ack—I hate being cold.* Ah, well, you didn't get anywhere in her business if you didn't make sacrifices. Not for the first time, she fumed about the circumstances that had put her in this position.  
  
"Hey, Captain!" Nathan Bridger stopped when he heard his name being called. He had just put Lucas to bed; the boy—*young man,* Nathan corrected himself—had barely seen the pillow and he was asleep. He turned around, and saw Commander Ford jogging to catch up with him. He looked worried.  
  
"Yes, Commander?"  
  
"We still don't have navigation," Ford was a bit out of breath when he caught up to the Captain, "But we do have fire control back online. Decks five through eight are flooded, ten through fifteen cleared but damaged. We should have navigation back online in about an hour. How's Lucas?"  
  
"Fine," Nathan answered with a nod. The two resumed walking slowly, "He's asleep. Doctor Westphalen ordered him off for the next twenty-four hours, but he should return to duty after that." Ford nodded solemnly.  
  
"It'd be a shame to lose that kid," he said soberly; Nathan agreed. "Thought you should know," Ford continued, "That there's an island near us that's not on any of the charts. We think the Buzzards came from there, but we're not sure. We haven't detected anything else in the water… yet."  
  
"Yet?" Nathan turned to Ford in question. He nodded.  
  
"It is my belief, sir, that we haven't seen the last of these guys."  
  
"What makes you say that?" Nathan glanced at the floor, then at Ford's face.  
  
"They didn't attack us, sir, until we got this close to the island," his face was earnest, serious, "Why? What are they hiding?"  
  
Nathan was quiet a moment while he pondered that. "How soon can the repairs be made?" he asked.  
  
"All total, I'd say about two days, give or take."  
  
"Good," he made his decision, "Take a scouting party to the island in the morning. Meanwhile, keep watch around the clock; I want to be notified the moment anything changes. And BE CAREFUL."  
  
"Aye-aye, sir," Ford replied with a sharp nod and salute. Then he jogged off towards the bridge. Nathan continued on down the hallway to his own quarters adjacent to his office, deep in thought.  
  
The sharpest pain he'd ever felt in his life awakened Lucas out of a feverish dream; he had rolled over on one of his bandaged hands. Squeezing back tears, he gently extricated the offending appendage. For the first time, he realized that he was in his room, and the lights were off. *No wonder its so dark in here*, he thought dazedly, *duh.* He stretched for the pain killers that Dr. Westphalen had given him, but he couldn't reach them; he had no strength. *Damn being tired unto death!*  
  
Just then, the door opened and shut quietly, and Tony tip-toed in. Lucas cleared his throat, only just realizing his mistake, his mind being groggy from sleep.  
  
Tony jumped about three feet in the air and spun around on his heel. "Lucas!" his tone was both sheepish and accusatory, "Jesus, Luke, you scared the shit outta me! Why the hell aren't you asleep? You need your rest!" *He sounds like an overbearing older brother... not that I would know*.  
  
"I woke up when I rolled over on my hand," Lucas explained sleepily, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as Tony turned a lamp on, "Can't reach my painkillers," he finished hoarsely, sitting up gingerly. Tony was at his side in a second flat.  
  
"Here," he said gently, shaking out the pills. He handed them to Lucas. "Want some water or something?" he asked, looking like a worried parent fussing over a child. *And damn if he isn't embarrassed either*. Lucas would've grinned if he hadn't been so tired; he shook his head, and then winced.  
  
"Alright," Tony said, "Back to bed," he ordered kindly, helping Lucas back under the covers.  
  
His roommate was asleep in seconds. Toni sat on his bed, studying the sleeping man across from him. He shook his head. "You're one tough cookie, kiddo," he said affectionately, and then he turned out the light. He stripped out of his cloths and tossed them to the floor—somewhere in the vicinity of the footboard. He settled himself in for the night, not bothering with his own covers. He fell asleep listening to the sound of Lucas's rhythmic breathing and the SeaQuest just being a ship.  
  
He awoke a few hours later. Tony's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness... he could just make out Lucas on the other side of the room. *What in the hell...? Why did I wake up?* Then he saw Lucas stir; heard him whimper. *Poor guy must be having a nightmare.*  
  
"Hey—Lucas!" he called out softly, sitting up in the dark, "Wake up, man!" There was no answer. Lucas suddenly flung off the sheets, tossing his head fitfully.  
  
"Hey!" Tony exclaimed, dashing over to his friend's side. He flicked on the lamp. In the dim light, he could see the sheen of sweat over Lucas's face. He was very pale; his breathing was shallow. He whimpered again. "Lucas!" Tony shouted, shaking the young man with alarm.  
  
"This is Piccolo to Sickbay—I'm bringing in Lucas Wolenczak!"  
  
"It's infection," Westphalen said dully as she walked out of Sickbay and into her office, where Nathan, Ford, and Piccolo had gathered. Worry was etched into everyone's features—Nathan was impatiently pacing the floor. Ford leaned against the wall while Tony, still in his boxers and a tank top, perched restlessly on the edge of a low filing cabinet.  
  
"It's settled into his system," she continued, too worn out for emotion, "But that's not the least of our problems." Three pairs of anxious eyes met hers expectantly; afraid to hear what was next.  
  
"Lucas also had a reaction to the meds I gave him," she sighed, running a hand over her hair, "He has some kind of rare allergy to Xyocine, a new chemical in prescription pain meds used to treat burns. It caused his seizures and bad sweating," she stopped and leaned against the closed door. The men exchanged glances that transcended rank and Order of Succession.  
  
"I don't know what to do for him," she said, and finally, "I don't know... how long he has."  
  
"He's a fighter; he'll pull through," Nathan was quick to respond. Tony and Ford each agreed, sounding off mumbled affirmations and support—none of them looked entirely convinced. But all of them were desperate. Westphalen sighed.  
  
"I'll find out what I can about Xyocine," she said, pretending renewed vigor, "You three go back to your posts. If you have any strings that might help us out, pull 'em. Anybody—a doctor, a nurse, the Biology teacher you had in seventh grade—anybody you can think of that might help us out. We've got to do what we can... while there's still a chance."  
  
Nathan turned to two of his best officers. "I want you to spread the word—whoever you can get hold of, tell them. Most of 'em will be wanting to know about Lucas anyway, so best to get the word out fast. Move it guys—we don't know how much time we're actually playing with here. And for God's sake, Piccolo, put some cloths on." Both Ford and Tony gave the smartest salute in the history of the SeaQuest, and departed at fair nigh a run.  
  
*Now when the hell did this happen?* She thought frustrated, viewing the cave-in before her, *So much for a quick get-away. I'll have to dig my way through. Ack, hell!* Rocks, timber—*REAL wood, and old too*—and a LOT of dirt blocked her way to the boathouse. *Dammit! And I suppose that all of my supplies are gone and the Penny is destroyed beyond repair. Huh, stupid question.... look it where you are girl! This is not exactly Fantasy Island!* She put her hands on her hips.  
  
"Well," she sighed, "Let's have a' it."  
  
She tightened the strap of her satchel and started digging. The only way out was through there, and so that meant losing precious time tunneling into the instable roadblock. *Ack, well, I've been through worse before. Hell, if I can jump through fire I can squirm into this mess. And it's not as if it's quicksand, like when you facing off with that giant, mutated alligator those UN idiots woke up! Or how about rescuing Legs? Boy, now THAT was a trip!*  
  
She grinned to herself, remembering how astonished Legs had been to find her. Legs had proven to be a wonderful pupil—and one of the few people she could consider a friend. They were more like sisters, even if they didn't contact each other too much anymore. Legs had a safer job now, *and I don't want to jeopardize that.* They tended to stick to short, cryptic messages heavily encoded and in a language they themselves had developed. *Two little girls with vengeance on the brain and rock 'n roll in the blood. Man, we could take 'em out like nobody else could...*  
  
Her muscles protested against the work, but she kept going. She had learned long ago how to ignore pain and make your body obey your mind. Legs had been the one to suggest it, and they had both learned the control like the finger of God had suddenly descended and cut off all feedback to their nerves. She pushed muddy hair out of her eyes.  
  
Yep, Legs was definitely a bright point in her life. There were so very precious few of them left... She shook her head, wincing at the tight muscles. Hard physical work always made her mind wander; it prevented her from concentrating on how badly she was treating her body so she could push herself farther every time. And pushing the limits of her body was necessary for her job... you didn't last long in that type thing if you couldn't take the physical and mental abuse.  
  
She thought about why she was here, doing what she was doing. *It seems like I've had to dig my way through one too many roadblocks in my life.* She had always thought she would be doing something wonderful with her life at this point... but all she had gotten out of it was the need to keep scrounging, keep going; she had no end to what she had to do. There was a big empty spot in her soul that needed filling, and now that she had started down this path, there was no way off of it; the forest would still be the same, and the trees just went on forever.  
  
*How is that digging through mud always gets me thinking philosophically?* She was almost half-way through now. *Damn, this is taking too long. I should just go another way... but what other way is there? You designed your place to have only one escape route to prevent being taken by surprise... yeah, fat lot of good it did me. I could blast my way out... but that would complicate things too much. And attract unwanted attention. Well, then, what choice to I have?* So she kept at it.  
  
Her stomach growled; she ignored it. Food would come later, when she could afford the time and risk involved in stopping. She would find a nice little island, settle down for a few days to recuperate, and get back to business instead of business finding her. Sweat stung her eyes, so she wiped it away, smudging more muck across her forehead. After she had seen what she had looked like before she'd been... coerced... into moving, she didn't want to know what she looked like now. She had never been a vain woman, but she at least liked to be clean.  
  
"Ah-hah!" she exclaimed as she could feel herself getting close to the other side. Just a few more... she was through! Squirming, grunting, and hurting, she pulled herself from the rubble. She fell through the small opening, landed with an out-rushing of air that burned her lungs. Pain infiltrated her thoughts, sending her consciousness spinning madly. With iron control, she centered her dizzy mind. *Just a few hundred yards or so and I should be at the boathouse. What a relief!*  
  
She stumbled to her aching feet, and her vision blurred momentarily. Taking a deep breath, she half-crawled half-walked towards the secret opening in the back wall of the boathouse. She prayed that it was at least still standing... she could take care of any interference, but it wouldn't do her any good if the place was destroyed. *I hope the Penny is still operational... I wonder if Legs is anywhere near that she could... NO! You can't put that kind of responsibility on her. You can't depend on her help this time—it would be asking too much of her, and she deserves to have a shot at a normal life. Lord knows I sure as hell don't... I've done too much... things I'm not really proud of... things I'd never tell a soul—alive or dead. Huh, how did Legs put it? Oh, yeah: nothing left to win, nothing left to lose. Ya just keep going, hoping that you can break through someday. Well, she broke through; no use in dragging her back... it would be too unfair to her.* 


End file.
